Let It Go
by HP-Forever-XX
Summary: "The fears that once controlled me can't get to me at all." Ginny is struggling to cope with life after Tom Riddle's Diary. Harry is perhaps the only one who can make her feel worthwhile again. Inspired by Idina Menzel's 'Let It Go.'


**Let It Go**

 _The fears that once controlled me can't get to me at all._

The first day after the Chamber of Secrets incident was difficult for Ginny.

The first night was even more difficult.

For almost a year, she had found solace in Tom Riddle's diary. She had found great comfort in pouring her heart and soul, quite literally, into the pages of such an object, the likes of which she had never found with any of her roommates, nor her family.

Hundreds of twelve-year-old girls could say they expressed their deepest emotions in a diary—their problems, their fears, their darkest secrets.

But how many could say they had a diary that spoke back? That _understood?_

Ginny was the seventh child of Arthur and Molly Weasley, and their first, and only, daughter.

The Weasleys, just in her own generation, had thus far produced one Head Boy, one Quidditch Captain, and a running total of _three_ prefects. Granted, it seemed unlikely that either of the twins, or Ron, would much live up to the standards already set by their predecessors, but that didn't mean that Ginny didn't feel the pressure of such high expectations.

And she had expressed this all, in great detail, to the one person—the _only_ person—she could truly be herself around.

But he was gone now. He had never even been real in the first place.

Ginny should have felt free after the destruction of the diary. She had been used, exploited, deeply manipulated by the seemingly harmless book. Or, more accurately, the soul that had been bound to it—the traces of a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle, now more commonly known by a name she daren't even think.

She had turned to the diary in fear; she had tried to dispose of the diary in fear; she had done its bidding, and let it consume her mind, all in the name of fear.

And yet, that first night without it, Ginny had never been more afraid in her entire life.

Not even when she'd been in the Chamber, face to face with the memory of one of the darkest and most powerful wizards of all time, had she felt as afraid as she did without the gentle reassurance that the diary was safely tucked beneath her bed. Almost every night, for the past year, she had felt its presence emanate through the mattress, giving her a sense of warmth and comfort that she had never found from any human figure in her life.

But now, she was back where she'd started. She was still alone; she was still afraid; she still felt the overwhelming pressures that a life such as her own posed. Now all that resided under her bed was an outdated magazine featuring the all-witch Quidditch team, the Holyhead Harpies, on its cover. And although Ginny could safely say she admired the Harpies, Gwenog Jones just didn't offer the same comfort that Tom Riddle had.

Her first night alone was sleepless.

She felt the cold trickle of fear creep over her body, like a blanket draped over a corpse. And yet, Ginny couldn't be sure her discomfort was because of the lingering feeling of manipulation she felt for having been no more than a slave to the diary for the past year.

Or because, deep down, she knew she still longed for it.

By the time dawn was upon them, Ginny could do nothing more but succumb to the realisation that life would never be the same without Tom Riddle, and not necessarily for the better. He had filled a void in her soul that she'd never even realised was there. Or perhaps, even worse, she had poured too much of her soul into the pages of that diary, and now there would never, _never_ , be a way to fill the void that had been ripped inside her.

The diary had been destroyed, and so too, had the only person, whether truly of body or not, who had ever really understood her. Who had ever really made her feel worthwhile. Never again would she find the kind of confidence that the diary had built up in her. Those fears that had always controlled her were back, and they were there to stay.

"Ginny!"

Head hanging down, framed by red hair as limp and lifeless as she felt, Ginny hadn't been paying attention as she forced her way through the portrait hole of Gryffindor Tower.

The face she looked up into was as startled as she felt.

"Harry," Ginny squeaked back, feeling the instant blush flare up in her cheeks. She hadn't seen him since last night—after he'd rescued her from the Chamber of Secrets.

He looked truly dreadful—hair wild and untamed, face grubby and sweaty, and with a rather bloody gash in his arm.

He looked like a hero.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, blocking Ginny's way out into the corridor.

She half felt like burying her face in her hands and running straight past him, but what would be the point? "I—no," she sighed. What was the point in lying to him? Any fool could see that she wasn't alright.

"You didn't sleep too, huh?"

Ginny regarded Harry with caution. Of all the people she knew, Harry made her most uneasy, and yet, at the same time, she could see nothing but genuine sincerity in his eyes. "No," she eventually replied.

"Me neither." He smiled at her warmly, as though trying to comfort her, but Ginny only felt more tense. "I, err, thought I'd go for a walk to try and clear my mind, but it didn't really do the trick. I should probably shower too." He beamed at her as he indicated to his grubby persona.

Ginny only blushed further.

"Are you going down to breakfast?" Harry queried.

"Yes."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"N—no, that's alright. I'll, err, I'll be fine by myself."

Harry frowned. "Everybody will be talking, you know. It might be good if the two of us stick together."

Ginny's whole body had frozen. "Talking?" she whispered, eyes wide.

Harry gave an apologetic smile. "What happened last night was _huge_ , Ginny, it's to be expected."

Ginny could see it all clearly in her mind—heads turning as she walked into the Great Hall, hushed murmurs about the stupid first-year girl who'd been emotionally manipulated by a _book._ As the breath hitched in her throat, she turned back towards the common room, determined to run back and hide in her room for as long as it took. She'd never be able to show her face in the school again; the shame was too much. What if she had to leave Hogwarts for good?

"Woah, Ginny, where are you going?" Harry asked, gripping at her shoulder before she could go.

She shuddered at his touch. The instant warmth from his fingertips, as it spread through her body, was enough to send any blood that wasn't already in her cheeks straight to her face. She could only begin to imagine what a fool she must look. Harry, in all his bedraggled, bloodstained glory, looked nothing less than heroic. Ginny, on the other hand, must look like a victim.

Helpless. Pathetic. _Weak._

"I can't," Ginny whispered in response, her voice too dry to get much out. "It's—it's humiliating. The whole school will see me. The whole school will be talking about me."

Harry only looked confused in response. "But Ginny—"

"I _can't_ , Harry." Ginny was shocked herself. She didn't _snap_ at people, least of all Harry. She was in awe of him, she always had been. In fact, that was partially why she had turned to the diary in the first place. Who was she, pathetic, uninspiring Ginny Weasley, when compared to the Boy Who Lived?

He had never seen her as anything other than his best friend's little sister—just a silly, little first-year.

Tom Riddle, on the other hand, had seen her _soul_. He had seen the depths of her being, and he had still been deeply fascinated. Ginny realised now, that he had only been using her, of course, but she still couldn't shake that longing to feel accepted in the way she had been by him. None of it had been real, not really.

But it had been the realest thing she'd ever known.

Harry Potter was the daydream, not Tom Riddle. He had been real, if only to her.

"We'll go together—"

"What, so I can be your accessory?"

" _What?_ "

"Your—your _trophy_ from yet another heroic thing you've done, so everyone can marvel at the amazing Boy Who—"

"Ginny, what are you talking about?"

Ginny could already feel the hot prickle of tears that threatened. But she was stronger than that. She _would not_ cry in front of him.

"You're a hero, Harry," she said weakly. "You always have been, and you always will be. But what am I?" She couldn't help but notice his hand was still on her shoulder.

"Ginny," Harry began, looking genuinely hurt by her words, "I'm no more a hero than you are, believe me."

Ginny rolled her eyes, wishing more than anything that he'd move his hand. "You did more last night than I've done, and will probably ever do, in my whole life. I'm not even worthy of being a Gryffindor. I did _nothing._ "

"Nothing?" Harry repeated, looking dazed. "Are you kidding me, Ginny? _I_ did nothing."

"You killed a Basilisk!"

"So what?" he countered. "I stabbed a snake with a sword that was _delivered_ to me in battle. Everything was provided for me—I just got lucky. And besides, that was only _one_ night."

Ginny wanted to contradict him—to scream at him for being so stupidly humble—but she knew there was more.

"You, on the other hand," Harry breathed, looking genuinely awed, "have been battling this for _months_ , completely by yourself. You have literally been being possessed, and yet you still fought against it. For everything you've been through, you're still here and stronger than ever. Nobody knew what was happening to you, Ginny, you faced it all alone. I had help—more help than I deserved—but you had nobody."

"Being possessed does not make me a hero," Ginny said quietly. "It makes me a victim. If I'd truly been strong then I never would have let myself been so manipulated in the first place." _And I wouldn't still be longing for it now_ , she added silently.

"You have to give yourself credit!" Harry protested. "This was incredibly strong, dark magic that you were facing. A weaker person would have been dead within the first week. But not you. You fought against it; you persevered; you _survived._ "

"I—"

"You clung to your life in the Chamber, Ginny, I saw you. You could have died, but you _didn't._ "

" _I'm_ the reason the Basilisk was let out in the first place. I'm the reason all those people were petrified. People could have died because of me!"

"But they _didn't."_

"That wasn't because of me—that was just a fluke!"

" _Ginny._ " Harry had taken hold of both of her shoulders and was staring into her eyes so deeply and so intensely that, for a moment, Ginny could have sworn she'd stopped breathing. "Don't ever, for a second," he enunciated clearly, "think that you are a victim, or that you don't deserve to be in Gryffindor. When I said people would be talking, I meant because of how _brave_ you were down in the Chamber of Secrets, not because you were weak."

Ginny found herself unable to look away from Harry's eyes. She had always known them to be startlingly green, but up close they were truly mesmerising. Light shone from them the way the light had shone through Tom Riddle's faded appearance. The faint blush of his cheeks, and the sweat on his brow, contrasted to the pale, vapid memory of the boy she'd been finding solace in.

And the smell—a little musky, but somehow almost _pleasant_ compared to the dry, tasteless scent of the parchment and ink she'd known for so long.

And Ginny realised, as Harry's steady gaze continued to pierce her, and the warmth of his hands on her shoulders continued to course through her body, that this was real.

 _He_ was real—flesh and blood. Not just a memory, or a blank page, or an empty promise.

"You're a hero, Ginny."

And for the first time that she could remember in a very long time, Ginny smiled.

"Please believe that."

"I do."

Harry returned her smile, finally letting go of her, though the feeling of warmth lingered in her body. "Do me a favour," he asked.

"Anything."

"Please, never, if you happen to get into another situation like this, keep it to yourself. I understand if you don't want to go to a teacher or any of your brothers, but please, _please_ , don't feel like you can't come to me. Although," he laughed, "I'm hoping situations like this only come around once in a lifetime."

Ginny laughed too, before settling into a coy but genuine smile. "I don't think I'll be keeping a diary anymore, don't worry about that."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Do me a favour?" she asked.

Harry cocked his head in a curious manner. "Anything."

"Go to breakfast with me?"

"It would be an honour."

Although it took her by surprise, Ginny found herself beaming as Harry took hold of her hand, and together the two of them walked down to breakfast. Unable to stop smiling, she realised something else.

For the first time in a very long time, she was not afraid.

Perhaps it was true that she'd never have Harry Potter in the way she dreamed of, but any way his presence was in her life was like a thousand rays of glorious sun compared to the dismal, faded presence of a boy she'd thought she'd known. The strength she felt in her body at the touch of his hand provided more comfort than she'd ever felt from the empty words scrawled in the pages of Tom Riddle's diary.

Ginny was not the hero Harry painted her to be—not in her mind anyway.

But she knew, truly, that she was not a victim.

* * *

 **Originally written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Season 3—Round 11**

 **Team:** Holyhead Harpies  
 **Position:** Captain  
 **Task:** Write an entry based on the song 'Let It Go' by Idina Menzel, using one lyric/line in particular for inspiration ("The fears that once controlled me can't get to me at all")


End file.
